


you say you want a revolution

by rokudaime



Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Arson, Bombing, Developing Relationship, Gang Wars, Gen, Gun Violence, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Slow Build, and become so corrupt that the people overthrew them, and something of a shadow government in their own right), and the akatsuki is not impressed, and the hidden villages (which have since evolved into crime syndicates, have stepped in to bring order to the chaos, lots of other characters but I tagged the main ones, mafia!au, so essentially:, the five shinobi nations have evolved into modern governments, underground boxing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-10
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-05 22:16:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5392307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rokudaime/pseuds/rokudaime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I'd take peace over that any day. Even if it is criminals who gave it to us.”</p><p>or, learning that a real revolution is <i>not</i> simply power changing hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My personal love for mafia!AU aside, this was largely inspired by the origin stories of the modern Yakuza — namely the fact that there are two conflicting accounts, and they're pretty much polar opposites, so no one really knows which is true. “The origin of the yakuza themselves is difficult to determine, but they are thought to have descended either from gangs of rōnin (masterless samurai) who turned to banditry or from bands of do-gooders who defended villages from those same wayward samurai during the early 17th century.” (Brittanica)
> 
> Expect lots of moral ambiguity, violence, and organizations with varying levels of corruption whose members may or may not be blinded by loyalty. While I've made every effort to tell a new and interesting story, there are some canon parallels so I feel the need to warn for **spoilers**. If you haven't seen/read the first few arcs of Shippuden you might want to come back when you have. I'll try my best to update regularly — I've got the whole thing basically planned out and a good third written (currently being edited), so that will help.
> 
> All that said, enjoy!

 

 

That day, before any messengers had arrived, before the day had even truly begun, Hiruzen saw the blood-red sunrise and knew something was amiss. Far be it from him to put stock in superstition — it would be unbecoming for a man of his stature. The nation looked to its Kage for guidance and assurance both.

It was with this in mind that he went about the day’s business. He would keep under wraps the deep unease that had settled into his consciousness, immune to his attempts to dismiss it. He would turn away from the window when four dark birds flying out over the city struck him as an omen, instead giving his undivided attention to his advisers.

Death found him in spite of every effort. It made its presence known in the face of his bodyguard, the grim twist of his features as he listened to the voice in his earpiece. It was there in his eyes as he raised them to Hiruzen and hesitated before relaying the message. The Hokage had time to strike a match and light a cigar before the man spoke.

“Sir, it’s Nara Shikamaru to see you. He’s... well, he—”

The boy burst through the doors before he could finish. Another suited guard at his elbow sputtered an apology: “I tried to stop him, sir, but he wouldn’t listen—”

He fell silent as the Hokage raised a hand. At that he withdrew and shut the doors firmly behind him.

Hiruzen surveyed the young man before him, and asked it plainly. “Who, Shikamaru?”

His grief was palpable under barely-held restraint — the audible tremble on the inhale, the deepening furrow of his brow — and it was like this that Hiruzen’s intuition was confirmed. There were only a few losses that would affect the boy to this magnitude. His father, his mother, either of his best friends, or—

“Asuma.”

—the only name on the list that could wound them both in equal measure. Shikamaru’s mentor, practically an older brother to him after all these years, and Hiruzen’s eldest son.

Feeling the color drain from his face, he sank back in his seat, and turned towards the window again. The Kage was never to betray emotion — such would constitute an unforgivable weakness. Still there was something like despair in his eyes, reflected in the glass, before he raised them to the clouds above. “How did it happen?” There were only so many ways a skilled fighter like his son could be taken from this world. “Kiri? Kumo?”

“Neither.” He didn’t have to see Shikamaru's face to know he was perplexed by the circumstances. “They called themselves Akatsuki. And they seemed to know who he was." When there was silence from the Hokage he ventured further. “Have you heard the name, sir?”

“Mm.” Hiruzen hummed in the affirmative and puffed at his cigar.

“What can you tell me about them?”

He could hear it in Shikamaru’s voice, the hesitance of consciously pushing his luck. Hiruzen may even have shared all that he knew, were he not certain what the boy would do with it.

“At the moment, nothing.” He didn’t look to see if disappointment was mingled with rebellion. “Thank you for telling me yourself. You’re dismissed.”

 

 

At four in the afternoon the firing range was empty, except for two. There was a blond boy in a dirty bomber jacket, shooting off rounds. Another young man, a few years older, stood watch. Everything about this man’s appearance spoke of sophistication — from the finely tailored dark suit he wore, to the neat ponytail his brown hair was pulled back into. Only the deep scar across the bridge of his nose suggested anything other than a mild-mannered corporate drone or investment banker.

Iruka was aiming to keep his presence as unobtrusive as possible — he found that when he hovered too close Naruto’s marksmanship only got worse. So here he was lounging against the back wall and keeping a careful eye on his student’s form. He’d already noticed several things that could be improved upon, but none severe enough to stop the boy before he ran out of ammo. Though when the only door to the room swung open, it wasn’t just Iruka who noticed.

Naruto turned to look over his shoulder and his eyes widened at the sight of the Hokage. Almost immediately he turned back around, and re-aimed, clearly intent on impressing him.

“That’s enough for now,” Iruka cut in, removing his ear protection. “Why don’t you unload and try dry firing for a while?”

The boy huffed in outrage as he tore off his own headgear, oblivious to the grave silence passing between the two older men. “Why do I gotta do that?”

Iruka answered evenly, despite his preoccupation. “You need to work on precision. Relax your shoulders. Isolate your trigger finger — it should be the only thing you move. Give me ten clean shots without moving your front sight away from the target and you can try again loaded.”

He waited until the boy had emptied the magazine to look away. With Naruto's attention back on the range, Iruka turned his fully to their superior. He bent into a solemn bow. “Hokage-sama, I am deeply sorry to hear about your son.”

“Thank you, Iruka,” he replied rather stiffly. Iruka gathered that he wasn’t inclined to dwell on the subject. “Are you nearly finished here?”

He glanced back over at Naruto, who from the looks of it had yet to achieve perfect form once, let alone ten times. If he had his way, they would be here at least another hour — but somehow he didn’t think the Hokage would take kindly to that answer.

“Well, we can practice anytime. Did you have something for me?”

“Mm,” the old man answered vaguely. “An assignment.”

“Really?” Iruka made no effort to hide his interest. It had been too long since he’d been out in the field. “What kind?”

“Recruitment.”

 

 

Iruka was certain he must have the wrong place.

Surely the Hokage hadn’t meant to send him _here_. He’d expected a house, or an apartment, or something at least resembling a residential neighborhood. Instead he was faced with this — a chain-link fence surrounding a half-acre of twisted metal, with a sign conspicuously warning visitors to _Beware of Dogs_.

He heard the car door slam shut behind him. “Lock it, please.” Naruto grumbled under his breath as he went to comply, and Iruka lifted his sunglasses to peer down the sidewalk at the next lot. It was a brick-faced, industrial sort of building, the kind that might’ve housed a factory years ago. With some effort, he made out the numbers on the front — 10235.

“I guess this is the place.” He tucked the scrap of paper bearing the address back into his jacket’s breast pocket, and unlatched the gate. Wary of the indicated guard dogs, he motioned with a jerk of his head for Naruto to stick by his side. “You remember what the condition was for you tagging along?”

“Let you do the talking.” He could _hear_  the pout in the kid’s voice.

“That’s right,” he grinned, ruffling Naruto’s hair until the boy smacked his hand away. A low growl from nearby cut through the playful mood in an instant.

From behind the gutted frame of an old Cadillac came the largest bulldog Iruka had ever seen. It was black, waist-high at the shoulder, and stalking toward the pair of them with teeth bared. In seconds it was joined by another three dogs from the opposite side of the path — all of them smaller, and leaner, but no less mean-looking. Sensing Naruto’s panic he placed a steadying hand on his shoulder, and began to strategize.

There was no need. Someone gave a short whistle and the dogs froze, then retreated the way they’d came. It wasn’t hard to spot the source: a silver-haired man outside the only structure on the lot.

When he didn’t speak, Iruka did. “Are you Hatake Kakashi?”

“Who's asking?”

 _So that’s how it's going to be_. Iruka’s voice had taken on a steely edge when he spoke again. “Umino Iruka. I'm here on behalf of the Hokage. Could I have a word?”

The man only stared in response. It was hard to tell what he might be thinking, given how little of his face was visible: a surgical mask hid the lower half, and an eyepatch covered a good portion of the rest.

“Suppose I can’t really refuse, can I?”

Iruka smiled peaceably. With an air of resignation, Kakashi opened the door to head back inside, and left it open for them.

Stepping over the threshold, Iruka folded his sunglasses and tucked them away. “I appreciate you giving us your time,” he said as he took a seat by the table. It was a modest, one-room dwelling, not much more than an old couch, a kitchenette, and a crowded bookshelf. He kept his surveying of the surroundings brief, not wishing to appear nosy — though the same could not be said for Naruto. The boy had flopped unceremoniously onto the couch and was leaning over to scan the titles in the bookcase. The urge to reprimand him went unfulfilled; it was superseded by Kakashi taking the seat across from him and fixing him with a look that all but demanded he get down to business.

“I’ve been told you were a friend of Sarutobi Asuma,” he began tentatively.

“We served together.” Kakashi was searching for something in the pockets of his beat-up leather jacket. “Before the fall.”

“So I’m told.” Iruka hesitated, not eager to deliver the news, but he knew it had to be done. “I’m sorry to say that he passed away this morning.”

Kakashi had found what he was looking for — a crumpled pack and lighter — but they were immediately forgotten. He took a moment to absorb this, slouching into his chair. “That’s too bad.”

“It truly is. Terrible to lose a man like him.” In the silence that fell Iruka struggled with how to raise his next point, the main reason for this visit, without sounding insensitive. There was no way to avoid it. “And frankly, it couldn’t have come at a worse time.”

Kakashi froze, eyeing him warily, before tugging the mask down to fit a cigarette between his lips. “How do you mean?”

“I’m not sure how much of this makes its way to the civilians, but there has been some... unrest between the Five Families in recent days.”

The lighter sparked, and Kakashi’s derisive snort was lost in a cloud of smoke. “What a shock.”

He chose to ignore this. “It isn’t the other Families that currently pose the biggest threat.”

“Really?” Kakashi asked, his voice cooled by suspicion. “And what might that be?”

“That I cannot share.” Iruka watched his hand move to his lips, the smoke coil and twist, curiosity glinting in his eye. “Of course, it would be different if you agreed to help us.”

It was a very long time before Kakashi responded.

“The Asuma that _I_  knew would rather die than go to work for his father. And yet I’m supposed to trust you guys?”

“It’s a different world now, Kakashi-san. Konoha is no longer a criminal organization.”

“Yeah, and that’s about all that’s changed. It’s still the same people, running the same business they always have.”

Iruka took a breath, and let it out slowly as he considered this perspective. It _was_ a fair point. Still... “I suppose you’d have us go back to how things were after the fall? Rolling blackouts, people burning down businesses, whole city blocks? Killing each other over property? Over food?”

Kakashi only puffed at his cigarette in a sullen silence.

“I’d take peace over that any day. Even if it is criminals who gave it to us.”

Still Kakashi said nothing. Eventually he tapped the end of his cigarette into an empty can, and tilted his head to peer around Iruka.

“Who’s the kid?”

Naruto startled at having been noticed, and returned the book he’d been flipping through to the shelf so quickly it made Iruka suspicious of its contents. “Uzumaki Naruto. He’s in training."

“Naruto-kun. What do you think about Konoha?”

Iruka watched as he grappled with the question, looking truly at a loss. “Um.” He shrugged. “I guess it’s all I really know, since I never had parents or anything...” His bright blue eyes, fleetingly tinged with sadness, blazed to life as he perked himself up. “But I like it a lot. I'm real good at fighting. Just ask Iruka-sensei, he’ll tell you I’m his best student,” he boasted with a grin, pushing up the goggles on his forehead out of nervous habit.

Kakashi’s gaze drifted from the boy to Iruka, who met it with a subdued smile. “Sensei, eh?”

“Well, it’s one of my duties — training the rookies. Naruto here is a very hard worker, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, yeah! I’m the best! That’s why Iruka-sensei always takes me out for ramen!”

Iruka chuckled lightly. “Though apparently I’ve failed at teaching him modesty. Naruto, do you mind waiting outside? We’re almost done here.”

The enthusiasm drained from the boy’s face all at once. “Why? What’d I say?”

“It wasn’t you. We just need a moment.” When he wavered on the edge of complying, Iruka turned to look at him again, speaking more softly. “Trust me.”

Finally he stood and crossed to the door, closing it with one last furtive glance at the pair of them.

Iruka studied Kakashi from across the table for a long moment before continuing. “That boy lost both his parents in the Third World War. As did I.” If it was shock, or pain, or anger in Kakashi’s expression, he could not say. He pressed on regardless. “If you want to believe Konoha is full of heartless criminals, I can’t convince you otherwise. But I can tell you there are just as many trying to protect the same thing you are.”

Kakashi didn’t meet his gaze once more in the time it took him to finish the cigarette. The light was slanting in the window behind him, tinged orange with the coming dusk. With one last drag, he dropped the filter into the can and the flame went out with a hiss. He raised his eye to Iruka and opened his mouth. “How did Asuma die?”

Iruka eyed him appraisingly, wondering if he could take this as an agreement. Something told him yes. He’d have known better than to ask, otherwise. “He was killed by a group called the Akatsuki. We don't yet know what their goal is, but it seems he was targeted because of his position.”

“What position would that be?”

“Underboss.” Even as he breathed the word, it felt traitorous. This much would never be divulged to outsiders — but Kakashi wasn’t one, he reminded himself, not anymore. “He was set to take over for his father.”

He heard Kakashi curse under his breath as he leaned back in his seat. He ran a hand through his hair and mumbled, “I guess people change, huh?”

“I’m sure he didn't change that much." Iruka wasn't sure why he was trying to comfort this stranger, but it didn't feel like a lie. “Maybe he just had a change of perspective.”

Kakashi looked up at him again, and Iruka smiled.

“I’d better go check on Naruto. Make sure your dogs haven’t eaten him.”

“They know better,” Kakashi assured him, though it was hard to miss the amusement in his voice.

Iruka slipped a hand into his suit jacket, pulling out a business card. He slid it across the table. “The Hokage will be expecting you. Come at your earliest convenience.”

Kakashi stared at the card, then at Iruka. He gave a nod.

“It was good to meet you. Take care, Kakashi-san.”

“Likewise.”

Out in the yard, Naruto was sitting in the dirt, scratching a greyhound behind the ears.

“He likes me!” he crowed happily.

“Of course he does.” Iruka’s hand dipped into his pocket, and his car unlocked with a chirp. “Everyone likes you.”

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

He should have known the club was no good. How could it be, in a town like this — one sprung up in recent years near the border, where the laws of the city didn’t quite reach. It was a shithole of a town. Its people had no taste. Playing here would be a waste of their talent.

It was like this that Deidara consoled himself in the face of rejection. It was with cheap vodka that he made the DJ’s tuneless thumping beat palatable. Enough liquid warmth in his chest and he could muster a visceral sort of appreciation for it, at least, for the feel of it thrumming through him. He was the only one left. The others had dispersed after the club owner turned them away, off to drink on their own terms, or get high, or fuck, or maybe even practice in an attempt to reaffirm that they were indeed real musicians.

Deidara had no need for that. He knew he could play the guitar, could even compose and occasionally turn out flashes of real brilliance with an instrument in his hands. But it wasn’t what his hands were for. There was no money in  _that_  — in the rush of heat, the roar of it, blinding, blue and white, gold and red. No money in gutted buildings and charred bones, but it was no matter. There would always be crowds who’d pay to mosh to something, anything, as long as those onstage did it with enough confidence and flair.

So they couldn’t do it here. Big deal. They’d find another place, another city. They always seemed to be on the move these days. There were reasons, of course, but these didn’t matter either.

There was the present: one room crowded with bodies. Too dark to see anyone properly, only glimpses and weirdly lit flashes — a smile, a snarl. He ordered another shot and downed it, slapping a few bills onto the counter before pushing off it and into the fray. The crowd swallowed him whole. It pulsed around him as he carved through it like a shark through water, sharp eyes darting aimlessly, hunting for something. Something to seize him.

He thought he found it for a moment, in a pair of dark eyes, until the man smiled at him in a way that promised seduction. That old script — he could hear it already, the rote repetition, soulless,  _fucking_  boring. He moved on. There was a hint of promise in a bleach-blonde flash and he gravitated towards her, toward her eyes, too-wide with blown pupils. She moved closer and he dared to touch her, fingers running up her arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake. She was warm. Feverish, even, but it felt good pressed against him. He let her dance too close for a while, until she opened her mouth.

Her lips brushed his ear to be heard over the music. “You’re pretty.” And like that wasn’t bad enough: "Why do you smell like gasoline?”

This club was no good. He knew it from the start, and now it had exhausted whatever interest it briefly held. He left her alone on the dance floor.

Down a hallway at the back, its walls painted black. There were two doors leading off it marked with blue and pink. He made for the third, under the glowing exit sign. The wind kicked up and tore a flyer for the place down. It stuck to the rain-slick pavement, _STONE-HEART_ left marred by his bootprint.

“Got some balls, partying it up this close to his hometown.”

It took a moment to register the voice was talking about him. His steps faltered, and stopped as he turned to the three strangers.

“They know your face around here,” said another, the long-haired one in the middle, his voice as clear and sharp as his eyes. “Deidara.”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, unthinking of how defensive he looked. “How do you know my name?”

“We know a lot more than your name.” It was the first one who’d spoken, and Deidara noted with a sick feeling that the bat slung across his shoulders was studded with long, sharp nails.

His eyes darted between them, and to the one standing off to the side, silent and stony-faced in his overpriced suit. “I don’t know what the fuck you want, but you can forget it.”

“We want to talk,” the middle man replied smoothly. “And with what we know about you, it’s in your best interest to listen.”

Half-hoping that was a bluff, he sneered a response. “You don’t know shit.”

At this, the brute with the bat launched into what almost sounded like an official report. “Deidara, nineteen years old, wanted by Iwa in connection with a string of felonies, most notably the bombing of the Capitol building. Contributed heavily to the downfall of the previous administration — but you didn’t stop there, did you?” It was only the fact that the alley around them was completely deserted that staved off panic. No one still living was supposed to know any of this. “You started out an insurgent, a fighter for a cause, but now you’re nothing more than a common arsonist. Aren’t you?”

They couldn’t see his hands, the way they curled in on themselves with rising tension. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him react.

“Kisame. Enough.” Deidara’s eyes flicked to the previously silent man; it was startling to hear him speak in so commanding a tone. With the mop of reddish hair above a face still rounded by youth, he looked like he could be the youngest of the three, yet everything in his bearing suggested seniority.

He unfurled his fists and spoke in as level a voice as he could manage. “What is this, blackmail?”

The big one — Kisame — seemed to find this funny. Deidara could hear the laughter in his voice as he shot back, “This is business.”

The man in the middle spoke up again. “It’s not what we could do with this information. It’s what we can offer you.”

Deidara only stared at him until he continued.

“We represent an organization with ideals similar to your own, and we’re in need of someone with your skill set. Your level of expertise.”

Though he remained unconvinced, he couldn’t ignore the hint of pride that bubbled up in him at the words. It gave him pause. “And what do I get out of this?”

“Like I said. You’d be very useful to us, doing what you do best. You’d be part of a movement that will make history. We’ll expose Iwa, Konoha, and all the rest for what they are — and watch them crumble.”

He stood motionless across from them, despite the tension still coiled in his body, readying him to fight or run at a moment's notice. The part of him that wanted to tell them all to fuck off was dwindling by the second. He let the words wash over him, with the accompanying thrill of their potential, lost in the shadowed depths of the man’s eyes.

“And in the meantime, you’d have our protection.”

He considered everything he’d be leaving behind — the talentless lowlifes that made up his band, living from one uninspiring club scene to the next, always on the run. Roughing it, sleeping in cars, or in seedy roadhouses and red-light motels. One of these days he’d die of boredom if some drifter didn’t do him in.

The only question on his tongue made him look too easy.

“Does it pay?”

A half-second’s pause, and the man smiled — just barely, something more youthful shining through the pale face and tired eyes.

“Naturally.”

 

 

“Akatsuki, huh?”

Tenzou kept his voice quiet, though they weren’t likely to be overheard — the only other workers at the construction site were on the floor below, power tools running in an overlapping din.

“Yeah.” Kakashi drifted further away as he answered, following a length of wire run up through the floor. “At least, that’s what I think he said.”

“And no one knows where they came from? Or what they want?”

“Maybe the Hokage does. He didn’t tell me, though.” He straightened, then sighed as he looked to his friend again. “I don’t know what to tell you, man. The fire didn’t do much to the wiring but it’s old. Not-up-to-code-anymore old.  It’s looking like you gotta replace everything.”

“Damn.” Tenzou took a breath, and tried to smile on the exhale. “Thanks for taking a look. I couldn’t persuade you to stay, help with that part of the job?”

“Ah…” Kakashi rubbed idly at the back of his neck, looking anywhere but directly at him. “I can’t.”

Tenzou’s smile faltered. “Well, it doesn’t have to be today, if you’ve got other things to do.”

“No, I mean even if I wanted to, I can’t. You gotta find somebody else to do your electrical.”

The blank look of shock gradually morphed into understanding, and disbelief. “What, you didn’t renew your license?”

Kakashi said nothing — only offered an apologetic grimace.

“I’m telling you,” Tenzou started with the air of an oft-repeated lecture. “You need to get out of that scrapyard. Even if it is just taking jobs here and there.”

“Yeah, well.” Kakashi leaned against a support beam, arms crossing over his chest. “Looks like I’ve already signed myself up for one.”

“So you told him yes?” When Kakashi didn’t answer, he let out a low whistle and shook his head.

“I don’t think I had much of a choice, once I was in there. Already seen headquarters, met with the Hokage… who’s to say I wouldn’t have ended up in the dumpster out back if I said no?”

Tenzou didn’t laugh. It seemed to Kakashi that he couldn’t possibly have looked less amused. “You’ll be careful, won’t you?”

“Ahh, come on.” Kakashi waved off his concern, grinning blithely. “You know me.”

With that he disappeared through a hole in the plywood, using a smoke-stained joist to swing down to the floor below, and Tenzou spoke to the empty room.

“Yeah. I do.”

 

 

“Hey, new kid. You comin’ out tonight?”

Deidara turned to the voice in the doorway, hands stilling on the guitar in his lap. “To do what?” He’d only picked the thing up for lack of anything productive to do. Another mission would be more than welcome. He was still reveling in the last.

“Shit, don’t they tell you anything? It’s Tuesday. Fight night.”

The flames behind his eyes faded, his hopes for the night dashed. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What kinda fight?”

Kisame grinned, leaning into the doorframe. “The fun kind.”

Five minutes later found them treading backroads into the industrial district. It was a cool night, and Deidara was grateful for his choice of leather to keep the wind out. The sound of it whistling through the abandoned buildings around them was undeniably eerie.

“Does everyone join in?” They were the only two on these deserted streets, but headquarters had seemed just as empty.

That got a laugh out of Kisame. “God, no. Tobi used to, but he kept getting his ass kicked. Hidan was a regular ‘til last week. And of course Kakuzu’s pissed because he was making a fortune off him, betting against people who didn’t know any better.”

Deidara’s curiosity got the better of him. “What happened last week?”

“Same as usual. He came into the ring all out for blood, ended up killing his opponent.”

“Jesus.”

“Most of 'em end up that way. They gave him warnings but he never listened, so.” He trailed off with a shake of his head. "I mean it’s one thing if it happens by accident. But if you’re straight-up  _trying_  to kill dudes, week after week?“

Deidara exhaled sharply, not quite a laugh; he was just relieved he was coming in after this. "He sounds like a piece of work.”

Kisame barked another laugh. “You can say that again.” He turned to look at Deidara, voice sobering. “If he ever tries to talk religion, don't stick around to hear it. You don't want him to get worked up.”

_Yikes_. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He knew when they got close. They could hear it from blocks away — the roar of too big a crowd taking up too small a space. A few years ago this would have been a magnet for cops, but he supposed that no one really cared anymore.

As they approached the warehouse, they attracted the attention of two bouncers. The men seemed to recognize Kisame, but eyed Deidara with some wariness until he vouched for him.

“It’s cool. He’s one of us now. Came to fight.”

The sound from outside couldn’t have prepared him for the sight when the doors opened. The press of bodies was so thick that he couldn’t see through to the center — though it was obvious enough that a fight was in progress. There was the hard-packed sound of fists hitting flesh, drawing shouts and jeers from the spectators.

Keeping close to Kisame circling the perimeter, Deidara surveyed the rest of the place. A metal staircase led to an upper level, and a clear division of the crowd — the platform running along three walls formed something of a viewing gallery crowded with tables, seating dozens of patrons far too well-dressed for the surroundings. Broken windows and grime-covered walls made a strange backdrop for cocktail dresses and shiny Italian suits.

Kisame stopped before a table set up at the back. The man glanced up from his ledger as he spoke.

“Brought another. This is Deidara.”

The stranger looked him up and down, leaving Deidara feeling uncomfortably scrutinized. But the man nodded briskly and took a pencil to the book. “He ready now? We still need somebody for the next fight. It’s another first-timer.”

Kisame gave him a sideways glance. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I’m ready.”

“Good. Go get set up and give him the rundown.”

Kisame tugged on his sleeve for him to follow. This time they pushed right through the crowd towards the ring. It came into view as a circle left empty apart from the two exchanging blows, six or seven meters from edge to edge. The concrete floor had been torn up, leaving only dirt underfoot, the jagged edges of the ring forming a clear barrier. They must have taken a jackhammer to it, he realized. A lot of effort just to mark a boundary — but worth it, he thought to himself, as one of the fighters went down. Concrete would have cracked his skull.

“Hey,” Kisame called to get his attention. “I’m supposed to give you the rules. There’s no rounds — you just fight until K.O. or tap-out. It’s up to the referee to decide if you’re fit to keep going. If there’s any doubt, he’ll call a standing eight count to give you guys a break. If you’re all out of it, can’t focus on him, he’ll call it a loss. Ah, what else — well, hands only, obviously.” He trailed off, eyes fixed on the opposite side of the ring. “Oh yeah. And you’ll want to do that.”

Deidara followed his gaze to find a man hunched over on a crate, carefully winding tape around his hands. His silver hair fell messily into his face, obscuring it, but he’d taken off his shirt to reveal a myriad of scars over his arms and torso. “I’m fighting him?”

“Yeah, looks like it.” Kisame was silent for a pause, then slapped him on the back. “Good luck.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part was Akatsuki-heavy but the vast majority of the story is from the Konoha side, FYI. I meant to update sooner but I've been ill (yay winter!) and my brain hasn't exactly been cooperating. More to come soon!


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

“How many were there, if you had to guess?”

Kakashi drew a breath, gaze drifting to the window behind the Hokage as he tried to pin a number on the massive crowd. “Hundreds. Four, five maybe?”

“And the location?”

“Right where you thought it would be. Disputed territory north of the border.”

The man had begun rifling through a drawer in his desk, pulling manila files as he went. These he laid on his desk in one row, then another, taking out the cover sheet to rest on top of each.

“These are every known and suspected member of the Akatsuki thus far. Can you tell me who was there last night?”

Kakashi dragged his chair closer and leaned over the files. At the top of each was a name, a small photo, and their previous affiliations. He took his time poring over them, under the guise of trying to remember — skimming the information printed below the headers, despite the fact that each page was clearly stamped _CLASSIFIED_.

“That one.” He indicated a muscle-bound man with a greyish cast to his skin and feral eyes. _Hoshigaki Kisame_ , he noted, _Former Navy_.

Most of the faces he’d never seen before. His eye lingered on a young man with long, black hair tied back from his face, trying to understand the stirrings of familiarity he felt. He read below it — _Konoha_  — and with a jolt, the name _Uchiha_. He remembered that story. It was quite the scandal a few years back. A teenage boy murdered his parents and disappeared without a trace.

He scanned the next row. A disheveled blond jumped out at him — though in this picture his eyes were smudged with eyeliner that definitely hadn’t been there the night before. _Name/alias(?): Deidara_. He couldn’t resist the temptation to skim his rap sheet. It was surprisingly long. He only picked out phrases here and there — _suspect in a number of strategic bombings… homemade explosives… traces of accelerant… recent rash of fires in Konoha territory…_

He tapped the page with his finger. “He’s the one I fought.”

The Hokage puffed at his cigar in contemplative silence as he looked over Kakashi’s face. “Anyone else?”

He hesitated before speaking again, but eventually pointed to a dusky-skinned man in a mask much like his own. “Him. I think so, at least. It was harder to see up there.”

“Up there?” Hiruzen prompted.

“A second level.” Kakashi gestured with his hand as he described the place. “Down where the fighters were it was all regular folk, you know,” and he paused, very aware of his own appearance in constrast to the suited man across from him. He hadn’t even thought to change out of the mechanic’s jumpsuit he’d donned earlier working on an engine. “There was a second level, all around here, and the people up there looked like they had money.” He sat back and let his hand drop. “They were placing bets, I think.”

The Hokage only hummed, like he’d already known this.

“That guy must have bet on the blond one. He looked real pleased with himself after. There was a lady, though…” Kakashi smiled to himself as he recalled. “Guess she bet on me, because she was mad enough to knock all the shit off her table. There was a sake bottle and everything.”

If that had gotten a chuckle out of the Hokage, he wouldn’t have been surprised. What crossed the old man’s face instead was as unexpected as it was hard to identify. Something shrewd and distracted came over him before he rose from his seat and crossed the room. Mystified, Kakashi turned to see where he’d gone and watched as the man pulled open a file cabinet and leafed through it.

When he returned it was with another folder, which he dropped, open, on top of the others.

“Is this the woman you saw?”

A blonde-haired, well-dressed woman glared up at him from the page. Her amber eyes were piercing even in the photograph.

“Yes,” Kakashi said. And a moment later, stunned: “This is a personnel file.”

The Hokage snapped the folder shut and walked away from him.

“She worked for you?”

There was a long pause before the man answered him. “Many years ago, yes.”

Kakashi wasn’t given the chance to ask anything else. He was jarred from his thoughts by the metallic sound of the drawer slamming shut, and the Hokage spoke without looking at him.

“Thank you for your time. That will be all.”

 

 

It was five minutes to noon when Kakashi arrived at the apartment building. He leaned against a stack of I-beams lying out in the dirt of the yard, and lit a cigarette while he waited.

Any time now.

Two minutes to noon, they started to file out. A few were carrying bagged lunches and only seeking a place to sit away from the noise and sawdust, but many more were headed down the block. There was a bar on the corner, and Kakashi wasn’t naive enough to think none of them would drink on the job. He remembered those days. He didn’t miss them.

It was precisely twelve when the one he was waiting for appeared. He knew the sight of Tenzou before he’d even crossed over the threshold and into the sunlight, and he knew he had mere seconds. Tenzou went very still upon seeing him, and in the beat of silence that followed, Kakashi took a hard drag on his cigarette. He’d better finish it fast.

A few long strides and a wary glance around them later, Tenzou stopped in front of him. “What happened to you?” he hissed at Kakashi, who flicked his cigarette butt away.

“Look, I can explain what happened but you need to—”

“I knew this was a bad idea, I _knew_ —”

“—listen to me. It’s not as bad as it looks.”

Tenzou laughed incredulously. “Not that bad? Have you seen yourself?”

“No worse than usual,” Kakashi deadpanned, knowing full well it wouldn’t help his case. “Seriously, though. I had to get a little beat up to keep my cover. This way I’m just some civilian nobody to them. I’m not even on their radar.”

He didn’t like the way Tenzou was looking at him — much too sharp. Too knowing. He was well acquainted with this look. It always made Kakashi feel like he wasn’t the older one, after all. “You’re going back,” Tenzou concluded. “Aren’t you?”

Kakashi couldn’t quite meet his eye again. Truth be told, he had no idea. It wasn’t like the Hokage had told him all the details of the plan; just the bare minimum. But he had no desire to tell Tenzou that.

“I thought you didn’t want to get mixed up in all this gang business.”

Kakashi shifted uneasily. This conversation was hitting a little too close to home. “I didn’t come here for a lecture. I came to tell you something.”

Tenzou straightened at his change in tone, crossing arms over his chest. “Yeah? And what’s that?”

Kakashi looked past his shoulder, indicating with jerk of his head the building behind him. “I think I know who did this.”

Tenzou’s brows furrowed. He stared at Kakashi hard. “You saying it was them?”

“Akatsuki, yeah. They’ve got an arsonist working for them. Explosives expert, actually.” He thought it best not to mention this was the same person responsible for his face.

Tenzou was silent, preoccupied with this new information. When his eyes found Kakashi’s again, something had changed behind them. “Please don’t get yourself killed,” he pleaded quietly.

Kakashi gave a nod. “Don’t intend to.”

“They never do,” Tenzou muttered as he was walking away.

_And you always have to have the last word_ , Kakashi thought to himself with a smile, as if amusement at the little quirk could in any way obscure his growing discomfort. As if anything he told himself could smother the dread in the pit of his stomach.

 

 

The afternoon was busy enough to keep it at bay. Most of it he spent putting the finishing touches on a rebuild of a ’72 Mustang for a client who subsequently tried to rip him off. It was only when Kakashi settled in for the evening, oil and rust and difficult customers and reheated dinner behind him, that it finally sank in. The enormity of what he’d gotten himself into.

Trying to drown out awareness with the latest unfinished novel on his shelf didn’t work either. Because eventually he was forced to accept that the rapping on his door was not the dogs, the wind, or his imagination.

He cracked it open and saw that it was Iruka, alone this time. The man stood his ground, undeterred by Kakashi’s obviously foul mood, until Kakashi finally jerked the door open the rest of the way and turned his back to him.

He sat at the table, waiting while Iruka closed the door quietly and pulled up a chair to join him.

“Thank you for seeing me,” Iruka began, his eyes lingering on Kakashi’s face just long enough to betray concern at the state of him. “I hope you’ve been well.”

“Just tell me why you’re here.”

If he was taken aback by Kakashi’s rudeness, it didn’t show. “That woman you saw. You’re to make contact with her.”

Of course it would be more orders. Kakashi really shouldn’t have expected anything different. “And why is that?”

There was a very slight pause before Iruka replied with a question of his own. “I believe the Hokage told you she used to be part of our organization?”

Kakashi slouched further into his seat. “Years ago. Why does he want her back now?”

“They’ve got the bookie in their pocket. That place funds the Akatsuki directly.”

“And you think if she knew this she’d have some kind of crisis of conscience, come back into the fold?”

Iruka’s lips gave a twitch, vaguely threatening a smile, that made it clear he didn’t like Kakashi’s tone. “I’m just passing on what I’ve been told.”

“And I suppose the Hokage can’t be bothered to tell me this himself.”

“You suppose right,” Iruka answered so swiftly it left Kakashi stunned at his bluntness. “He is a very busy man. And I don’t know why you’re complaining. You’ve already met with him twice. That’s more than I got my whole first year, and you aren’t even initiated.”

There were several things Kakashi could have said to that, but he held his tongue. Instead he decided to indulge the curiosity that last remark had piqued.

“This initiation. What do they make you do, kill someone?”

Iruka snorted, eyeing him with the first hint of amusement Kakashi had seen on anyone in days. “You’ve watched too many gangster movies.”

“No really. Come on.”

Iruka only looked at him for a while, clearly deciding how much to divulge. “It’s relatively painless.”

_Now you’re just being coy_. “Relatively?”

“There’s a ceremony. A few other things.”

“Like?”

It came as no surprise that Iruka would hesitate again before answering him. What _did_ come as a surprise was that Iruka said nothing at all — only undid the first two buttons of his shirt and pulled the collar aside. In doing so, he exposed the very edge of what looked to be an ornate, extensive tattoo.

“Holy shit,” Kakashi muttered under his breath, sitting up straighter and tilting his head for a better view. “How far does that go down?”

“Arms and back,” Iruka said curtly, already buttoning back up. “And no way am I telling you the rest.”

Kakashi briefly let his thoughts run dirty, but sobered when he hit a realization.

“That’s why you needed an outsider. One look at any of you and they’d know.”

Iruka was silent for a loaded pause. “That was one of the reasons, yes.”

“What are the others? Why me?”

He knew Iruka was weighing his response carefully. It was only to be expected when demanding honesty of one so thoroughly conditioned for discretion. “You have combat training,” he said eventually. “You have a personal connection to one of our own, though he’s no longer with us.”

Though Kakashi had suspected as much, it still rubbed him the wrong way to hear it. “A reason to care. Easier to manipulate.”

Iruka almost looked as though he’d been slapped.

“It’s okay,” Kakashi went on, crossing arms over his chest as he settled back into his chair. “I get it. I’ve got fuck-all else to do with my life, might as well be a pawn in whatever war games he’s playing.”

Visibly uncomfortable with this streak of bitterness, Iruka nonetheless managed to keep his voice neutral. “I think you’re looking at this in the wrong way.”

“I’m looking at this in the way you don’t want to.”

Iruka raised his brows but said nothing. He looked away from Kakashi and let the silence breathe before breaking it. “Maybe so. I can understand your skepticism. You don’t know the man like I do. You don’t know anything about Konoha beyond whatever rumors circulate around here, and I don’t expect you to. All I ask is that you open your mind.”

In the quiet that fell between them, Kakashi did his best not to acknowledge the effect that Iruka’s words had on him. It was subtle, but it was there. He would be hard-pressed to name anything he considered an asset, apart from his mind. The idea that something as inherently lazy and subjective as _stubbornness_ could be keeping him from true understanding didn’t sit well with him. He found himself staring at Iruka and entertaining the notion that maybe — just maybe — the man across from him wasn’t some naive kid who got roped into all this before he knew any better.

“These are powerful people trying to destroy us,” Iruka continued in a voice low with gravity, leaning forward over his clasped hands on the table. “Not only Konoha, but every organization that’s managed to create some kind of order out of the chaos after the fall. And they don’t care who gets in the way. They’ll kill civilians if they have to, which we’ve already seen — and I fear it’s only going to get worse. What’s really disturbing to me is that we have no idea what they plan to do _after_  they take over every territory.”

Kakashi could even pinpoint why it was getting to him. These weren’t recycled sentiments. Iruka really believed in what he was saying. Believed in his place firmly on the side of good, and justice, and doing the right thing in a world that’d had its moral compass shattered years ago.  And yeah, maybe he was too optimistic. Maybe he was well-liked enough to hold some sway. Maybe Iruka was the only one in all of Konoha who still had a conscience, but it was something.

When Kakashi met his eye again, it was with a concession on the tip of his tongue. “ _Better the devil you know_ …”

Iruka cracked a smile at that. “It’s a cliché for a reason.”

Kakashi wasn’t sure he agreed, but he returned the smile all the same. It was just a moment — light-hearted and fleeting. When it receded the room felt awfully still and quiet. Kakashi remembered the unanswered request hanging in the air. “All right. I’ll figure out a way to contact her next week.”

“Thank you.”

Iruka seemed to hesitate, lingering like the conversation wasn’t quite finished, but then he was rising from the table. He was only here on business, after all.

Even so. Kakashi couldn’t help himself.

“You want to stay for a drink?”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

In a sea of strangers — none of them friendly, and too many actively hostile — it was easy to become overwhelmed. It was easy to become too absorbed in the fight in front of him and start feeling the blows vicariously, in the fading bruises along his jaw and cheekbone. It was hard not to let his eye linger on the spray of blood across the dirt and succumb to the sinking feeling that’d been settled in his gut for weeks, never fully leaving no matter what he tried, telling him that this was all hurtling toward some inevitable disaster.

Mere minutes left, and he still didn’t know if this plan was a stroke of genius or the proverbial nail in his coffin.

Kakashi let his eye fall shut and grounded himself with a breath. He leaned forward onto his arms as he let it out, bones digging into thighs, and flexed his fingers. They were stiff with protective tape, but they still knew how to make a fist. He still knew how to fight, even if years had elapsed without the need to prove it.

A drawn-out groan laced with agony made him look up. The smaller of the two fighters had gone down. He was struggling to push himself up with shaking arms, while a steady drip of blood fell from his mouth to pool on the ground. Kakashi stared, transfixed and more than a little disgusted, at his ruined face. But then his view was blocked by the man’s opponent, who bent down to deliver one last blow, the sound followed immediately by that of a body falling heavily to the ground.

His time was up.

While the victor prowled the edges of the ring, basking in the crowd’s approval, a cleanup crew dragged the unconscious body out of the way. One doubled back to kick some dirt over the blood, and just like that the ring was good as new. Ready for the next round.

Kakashi stood. He waited, staring at the opposite side of the ring, until the onlookers parted to make way for his opponent. Kakashi had no outward response to the sight of him — towering over him, solid muscle — even though recognition hit him with a suddenness that was almost violent.

His tongue curled around the name. _Hoshigaki Kisame_. Even if he hadn’t read the man’s file, Kakashi would have known he was ex-Navy from the tattoos alone. He would _not_ have known that he was sworn to a dangerous terrorist cell and so Kakashi tempered his reactions accordingly, letting only wariness show when the man moved in close and gave him a grin.

“Don’t worry,” he assured Kakashi, his tone downright patronizing. “I’ll go easy on you.”

He replied blandly. “I wish you wouldn’t.”

The grin widened. “Suit yourself.”

“Enough talk,” called the referee, his voice rising over the impatient crowd. “Let’s go!”

Kisame raised his fists and Kakashi kept his eyes on them as they started to circle each other, slowly, looking for an opening. He hadn’t seen Kisame fight the week before, so he didn’t have the advantage of already knowing his form and style. Kisame surely thought he had the edge there.

He shot out a fist, lightning-fast; Kakashi dodged. The man was quick – he had to give him that. Too bad he was quicker.

Around the fifth blow Kakashi sidestepped without even breaking a sweat, Kisame’s frustration began to show. This was good. Kakashi wanted him angry, because anger made people careless.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to go easy on me?” he asked when Kisame had lunged within earshot. He expected the growl that earned him. He knew the blow was coming and this time he let it connect. And while he had Kisame close, he aimed a shot of his own. Right fist, a single jab. He felt something crunch.

Kisame howled in pain as they broke apart. Kakashi could feel the black eye forming, a deep ache radiating from his eye socket, but he could bear it. He wasn’t so sure about his opponent. He stood staring at Kakashi, dumbstruck. Blood dripped from his broken nose.

He swiped at it with the back of his hand, leaving the white bandages stained red. He rebounded soon enough and they started the dance again. One step forward, one back. Advance and retreat. The constant circling. They were both on edge now, with blood and adrenaline flowing, and Kakashi kept in a tight defensive stance. He didn’t intend to get hit again, if he could help it. Unfortunately, neither did Kisame. It seemed getting his nose broken had made him cautious.

Not good. Maybe he’d have to break a sweat after all.

As focused as he was on his opponent, Kakashi was acutely aware of their audience. The crowd had grown more subdued than they’d been at the start. He could hear the murmurs of surprise and dissent at the unexpected turn the fight had taken. Kisame must be a regular here. A favorite. It must be scandalous to see him bleed at the hands of a newcomer, a nobody, especially one who’d been beaten into the ground only the week before.

Even as he dodged one blow after another, hardly taking any, and connected as many shots thrown as he missed, he could feel himself holding back. A tightness in the muscles that wouldn’t allow him to strike with his full strength. He had no reason or desire to hurt this man terribly – he just had to win. He still wasn’t sure if this gamble would pay off, but it was too late now, anyway. The outcome had been set in stone from the moment the fight started.

He knew it was over when one well-aimed punch to the face made Kisame fall still, his eyes going hazy. He staggered forward, slowly — one step, then another. The referee moved in front of him and peered into his face. When he fell, there was only the referee to hold him up.

With a grimace, he staggered back under the weight and turned his head to find Kakashi, who’d moved out of the way and stood watching, warily, from the sidelines. The man raised a hand, and pointed it straight in his direction.

“Winner!”

The answering roar from the crowd was deafening. Kakashi felt himself jostled, patted on the back even — dazed, he saw someone smile at him. Maybe favorites didn’t matter as much as who gave them a good show. He didn’t hear any of the words shouted at him. Now that it was over, he wanted nothing more than to get out of the center of attention.

Near the periphery of the crowd, he found a little more breathing room. The next fight was starting and that captured the majority’s attention.

“You!”

It could’ve been aimed at anyone, but he raised his head at the call. A moment later he identified the source.

 _Success_.

The woman rushing down the staircase and straight toward him was beautiful, and blonde, and frighteningly angry.

“What do you think you’re _doing_?” she demanded, breaching his personal space.

Kakashi raised his brows and spoke mildly. “Excuse me?”

“You threw that fight.”

He managed to affect a look of benign confusion, uncomfortably aware of the heads that had turned in their direction.

“Last week. God, do you _know_  how much money I lost because of you?”

“Let me make it up to you,” Kakashi offered, increasingly desperate to keep this quiet. “I’ll buy you a drink.”

To his immense relief, she seemed mollified by the suggestion.

“I’ll buy you the whole bottle,” he muttered as he placed a hand lightly on her arm and steered them toward the exit. “Just get me out of here.”

 

 

“It was a terrible idea.”

Kakashi didn’t argue.

“To be fair, the original plan was to keep losing every fight. I’d hoped to go relatively unnoticed. But then they told me I had to contact you, and I knew I wouldn’t be allowed up there…” He trailed off, pulling a face under his mask. “It was the best I could come up with.”

“The old man really doesn’t know how to let things go,” she sighed, eyes wistfully vague as they slid past Kakashi. Her fingers were curled around the neck of a bottle that had put him out half a week’s earnings. “I would’ve thought the kid would be running things by now.”

He felt a cold trickle at the reminder. “Asuma?”

“Mm.”

Kakashi watched her take another sip, feeling oddly detached from the words he spoke. “Asuma is dead.”

She didn’t look too troubled by the news, merely surprised. “That’s a shame. I liked him.”

“So did I.” Kakashi could have said more, wanted to, at least to show proper respect for the man, but he found his mind blank when he reached for the words. His mouth felt dry. He drank some of his tea.

The woman was quiet for some time. He glanced up to find her watching him closely, and was filled with the slightly disconcerting sense that she was sharp as a hawk, sober or not.

“How long have you been working for Konoha?”

Kakashi was unsure if he’d phrase it like that, but couldn’t think of more accurate alternative. “Not very.”

“Why them?”

Her question briefly puzzled him. It hadn’t yet occurred to him that, as an outsider, it was equally within his rights to support another side in this conflict. Kakashi had never even wanted to get involved in the first place. How could he explain it?

 _I live in their territory_ , came the first impulsive train of thought, still faintly bitter. _They’re free to stop and question me as they please, and demand whatever they want_. But he knew that wasn’t right. In the end, there was nothing demanded, only offered. He could’ve turned the job down, and Konoha almost certainly would have left him alone. But he didn’t. He said yes — not just to the job, but what came along with it. The chance to seek closure for a friendship he’d once held dear, but had neglected for far too long by the time it ended in death. Kakashi had grown to love him like a brother in the trenches, because coming that close to death together did that to people.

It wasn’t only about Asuma. He knew this too, but that part was harder to verbalize. Something to do with who they sent. Not a looming bodyguard to coerce him with veiled threats, but a weirdly polite and candid stranger to _convince_  him. There was something about Iruka that made him easy to trust, and easy to like. Whether it was the flashes of genuine concern he’d shown, or the anger that’d crept into his voice when he spoke of their enemy killing civilians. Or maybe the way he’d shown up trailing a loud, bright mess of an orphan who looked at him like a father. Maybe it was just the general impression he gave off — that he was a good man. He’d been wearing away at Kakashi’s dislike for the organization since before he was even aware of it.

He’d asked Iruka to stay, that night they saw each other last, and he had. Until well after midnight. At first they’d only planned on a couple drinks, but then Iruka had announced that he couldn’t very well report back to the Hokage drunk, and in the end they’d finished the bottle. Which might not have been the brightest idea. In hindsight, the night was hazy — it had almost a dreamlike quality. A memory patched together in pieces, mostly visual. Iruka’s smile. His eyes lingering on Kakashi’s a moment too long after some off-color joke he’d made. The hint of blush intoxication brought to his cheeks.

Abruptly, Kakashi realized how long he’d been silent. He groped for a version of the truth. “Friends there.” It seemed the simplest explanation.

Tsunade asked nothing else, only raised a brow with the kind of subdued curiosity that made him feel embarrassingly transparent.

Kakashi glanced around, in need of a change in topic. “Are you sure it’s safe to be here?” The bar they’d ducked into stood only a few blocks from the warehouse, and it was hard to feel at ease.

Tsunade was unconcerned. “They didn’t follow us.”

“How do you know?”

She fixed him with a look that spoke of years of experience and a distinct lack of patience for being questioned.

“Right,” he said quickly. “Sorry.”

After another long swig of sake, she spoke more seriously. “All right. Let’s hear it. What does he want from me?”

“Well, he—” Kakashi started, and paused, realizing too late he didn’t know. He gracelessly finished the sentence. “Wants to meet with you, I think. And get you up-to-date on what’s been happening.” Or what the Akatsuki had really been doing, if she didn’t yet know. He decided giving her the benefit of the doubt was safest. He lowered his voice to a confidential murmur. “I’m sure you weren’t aware, but the people who run that ring are up to a whole lot of no good lately. They killed the Hokage’s son, and tried to burn down the building where his other son lives. He’s still in the hospital, though thankfully his wife and kid weren’t home at the time.” There was something that had bothered him ever since he learned more details. “He’s just a civilian. I can hardly understand why they’d find him a threat.”

Only now did it occur to him: Asuma was a civilian, too, until something had changed his mind. It would be easy to imagine the younger brother taking up arms to avenge the elder. It was as pragmatic a line of thinking as it was ruthless.

“I didn’t know,” Tsunade finally replied, and to her credit, Kakashi didn’t think she was lying. “I mean, I knew they weren’t good people, but I didn’t think it was _that_ bad.” Whether she’d been turning a blind eye for the sake of not getting involved, Kakashi supposed they would never know. He was certainly in no position to judge where that was concerned. “I just wanted a place to have some drinks and make a few bets.”

“Yeah, well.” _Sorry to ruin your fun_ , he almost said. Instead he aimed for slightly more productive. “I think Konoha needs all the help they can get at this point.”

“Clearly,” she agreed. Kakashi wasn’t sure if he was supposed to be offended.

Once she’d polished off the bottle, Tsunade stood.

“Fine. I’ll come meet with him.”

She fixed her coat and drew from some hidden pocket a handful of bills, which she left on the table. Kakashi’s eye lingered on it and counted half the cost of the sake.

“But if he thinks he’s gonna put a gun in my hand again,” she warned in a low voice, “he’s got another thing coming.”

She was gone before Kakashi could think of anything else to say.

 

 

Exactly one week later, almost down to the hour, Tsunade’s words came back to him and almost made him laugh. Almost. It wasn’t quite funny enough to break the silence, just heavy enough to settle in his chest and stick around.

The gun in his jacket was heavier. He was acutely aware of it with every turn and lurch of the car, sliding against his skin, warm even through the layers of cloth. He wondered how much of the uncomfortable silence that filled the car’s interior had to do with what each of them was carrying and what they were meant to do with it.

Tsunade had loaded her pistol while glaring at Kakashi across the open duffel bag on the table, as if daring him to say something. He didn’t. He was too busy with his own weapon anyway, going through the motions with a practiced fluidity and trying not to think too hard about how familiar this felt. Achingly so. Distressingly so. He’d thought his days of walking into battlefields were behind him forever.

If everything worked out, they wouldn’t have to use the guns at all. But they would be painfully irresponsible not to bring them. There was always room for error in a covert assassination attempt.

The thought of it made him queasy. Tsunade slowed to a stop and he held his breath unconsciously, waiting for the signal to open the door. It never came. A light turned green and Kakashi made himself breathe and lean back against the headrest.

Beside him was a short-haired stranger Iruka had called Jiro. He seemed intent on ignoring Kakashi completely, which he found agreeable. They gazed out their separate windows and said nothing the entire ride. Kakashi could see Iruka slouched into the passenger seat, dressed-down for once in an oversized coat and dark jeans. His face was calm in the mirror.

The plan was simple enough. Once inside, they would find their respective targets. At Tsunade’s signal, they were to take out their targets simultaneously, and clear the premises as fast as humanly possible.

When Kakashi had asked, at headquarters, how they expected to shoot anyone and get out of there alive, Tsunade had simply presented a vial and let them figure out the rest. He’d wondered aloud what exactly it was and where it came from. She told him it was a paralytic agent, and she’d synthesized it, and all at once he understood why Konoha was so keen to get her back. In the hands of the Akatsuki, she’d be devastating.

He felt the Cadillac once again rolling to a stop. They’d left the streets busy enough to have traffic lights fifteen minutes ago, and out the windows everything under the sky was the same shade of black. Kakashi steeled himself, knowing any second he’d be given the order to move.

It didn’t come. Eventually he peered into the driver’s seat. Tsunade was frozen with her hand on the door.

It wasn’t a comforting thing, to know that the leader of their mission was just as apprehensive about it as him. But soon Iruka’s door opened and she snapped out of it, stepping out into the cold air.

Kakashi followed suit. The half-moon overhead provided the only lighting — scant as it was, it was enough to make out their surroundings. He saw they were parked near the end of a side street, hidden from view by a long-abandoned block of storefronts topped with apartments. The windows had all been smashed in, leaving glass shards like jagged teeth around the yawning pits of darkness. He tore his eye from them and found his bearings. Past the end of the street, on the building opposite, he recognized the tail end of a particularly striking piece of graffiti he’d noticed on his first two visits (just the word KING, but highly stylized, and in pink). That meant they only had to round the corner and turn left, and the warehouse would be straight ahead.

Iruka and Jiro waited at the corner for he and Tsunade to join them. Kakashi, who had come to the conclusion that he would only get more nervous the longer he delayed, made it there shortly. He could feel Tsunade hanging back, somewhere behind him, but they didn’t wait for her to catch up. Iruka in the lead, the four of them took to the sidewalk.

It was when they neared the end of the block that Kakashi’s footsteps slowed. Iruka’s halted not long after, perhaps sensing the same thing as him.

“Something isn’t right,” Kakashi murmured to himself. Iruka turned slowly to face him. “There should be a bouncer. We should be able to hear the crowd.”

The silence was even louder when they both paused to listen to it. Kakashi stared at Iruka’s face, seeing in it a reflection of the horror that was dawning on him, barely registering that Jiro had kept walking.

“This is a set-up.”

Iruka turned to stop him, but it was too late. Jiro had reached the building. He grabbed the door handle and Iruka’s voice ripped through the night air.

“No!”

The door opened and they heard a _click_. In a heartbeat the air itself seemed to catch fire, the ensuing blast strong enough to shake the earth under their feet. Kakashi caught Iruka by the back of the jacket and pulled them both to the ground.

After a shell-shocked silence, over the ringing in his ears, Kakashi became aware of a man screaming like he was being burned alive. It stopped abruptly, cut off by a resounding gunshot.

Kakashi opened his eyes.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

 

He felt his body move on its own. Fast, before he was even fully aware of it, off the ground and making for cover. When logic caught up to instinct, he turned to make sure Iruka was following.

He was, and so was another. Across the street from the ruined warehouse, he could see a single gunman headed down the sidewalk towards them. He was slight, with messy hair that glowed orange-red in the light of the fire.

And then Kakashi was past the corner, and his back hit the brick, taking temporary shelter at the side of the building to gather his wits. He took a deep breath and let it out forcefully, trying to stay calm, though every nerve in his body was overloaded. A hand reached into his pocket and curled around metal, pulling it out and disengaging the safety in one swift motion. He kept the gun close to his chest with a finger on the trigger. A glance at Iruka showed his own weapon raised and pointed at the corner.

There was no time. Any second they’d be fired upon, and their lives depended entirely on whether they could make the shot first. It was more than adrenaline — he recognized the hysterical clawings of real fear through him, and suddenly he was eighteen again, shaking with an automatic rifle in his arms. He squeezed his eyes shut, opening them almost immediately when a voice reached them from nearby.

“Get back to the car!”

Halfway down the block, Tsunade was pressed into the alcove of an entryway, weapon at the ready. With the door set back from the face of the building, her own cover was much more sufficient than theirs. She leaned forward to steal a quick glance down toward the warehouse, and gave the order again.

“Go. I’ve got your back. Move!”

No time to second-guess. They started moving backwards, neither one of them willing to turn away from the threat. Only the longer they stared at the street corner, and no one appeared, the more acutely Kakashi wondered what the man was waiting for.

The second shot was silenced, and came from above them. Kakashi whipped his head toward the sound in confusion, catching a gleam of blond and a cruel grin right before he realized what had happened.

Iruka was frozen on the sidewalk. His right hand hung limply at his side, still holding his gun, but the left one was clutched to his shoulder. As Kakashi staggered toward him, he moaned in pain, and Tsunade aimed her pistol to the sky.

A sharp cry from the rooftop told Kakashi she’d hit her mark. It was no comfort. Iruka was breathing rapidly, trying to stem the flow of blood that soaked through his jacket and slowly spread. Kakashi stopped beside him and Iruka looked up, wordless panic in his eyes.

No time. Kakashi put an arm around his middle and hurried him toward the car.

“Shit,” Tsunade spat, reluctantly lowering her weapon and following after them. “The other one bolted for the building his friend’s in. It wasn’t a kill shot, but he won’t be any kind of backup now. They’re gonna run.”

Even a short walk was a struggle in Iruka’s state and he leaned heavily on Kakashi. Finally they turned into the narrow street where the car waited, and Iruka pulled away from him to sink to the ground against the first building. He started to take his jacket off. Kakashi saw his fingers were shaking and helped. There was blood on Iruka’s hands. On his own from touching him. Too much blood that should be inside him.

He heard Tsunade open the trunk, rummage through it, and slam it shut again. When she settled down at Iruka’s side, it was with something Kakashi recognized from his time in the service: a field surgical kit.

Not that he’d ever had to use one. He’d been lucky enough to avoid being shot even once during his time with the army and special forces. Others had attributed this to some superior level of skill, but he knew it was luck — blind, terrible luck.

In one hard tear at the cloth, Iruka’s shirt was opened enough for the medic to work. Kakashi stared down at the inkwork covering his skin, washed out to grey and black by the moonlight. There was a dragon curled around his shoulder. The bullet had entered through its eye. Iruka’s face screwed up in pain as Tsunade started to clean the wound. Kakashi’s hand found his and linked their fingers together. Iruka’s were cold.

“No exit wound. I think I see the bullet,” she murmured as she set aside the antiseptic and reached for more gauze.

“Are you gonna remove it?” Kakashi asked.

“It’s better if we don’t,” Tsunade answered, covering the wound with a thick layer of gauze. “Keep pressure on that as long as you can. We need to slow the bleeding.”

It felt terrible to comply, knowing he would be causing Iruka more pain, but Kakashi also knew how essential it was. One hand over the other, he gradually applied pressure to Iruka’s shoulder, pinning him to the wall behind him.

Iruka’s eyes slid shut. “Look at me,” Kakashi whispered. “You’re gonna make it.” They opened again and stared into Kakashi’s. His face was unreadable.

In another minute or two, Tsunade was back at his side. “Let me see.” Kakashi moved his hands. He’d bled through the gauze, but it was definitely slowing. “Good.” She added another few layers of gauze and took over for Kakashi.

Distantly, they heard another car start and roar into acceleration.

Tsunade took her hands away and looked at the gauze. “That’ll have to do.” She reached again for the kit and quickly started wrapping his shoulder up tight, leaning him forward to wind it behind his back and under his arm, criss-crossing the roll of gauze until it ran out. She stood and turned to Kakashi. “Put the coat back on him. We don’t need him going into shock.” She looked back toward the street, barely pausing at all before switching gears. “We need to go after them.”

Kakashi was sure he’d heard her wrong. “We need to get him to a doctor,” he argued warily. He groped for Iruka’s discarded coat, pausing when he found it to gaze down at it. He hadn’t paid much attention to what Iruka was wearing before. Something about it looked familiar. He blinked, belatedly registering how much blood had soaked into the cloth, and dropped it again. He gave him his own coat instead.

Tsunade remained adamant. “If we let them go, who knows how long it’ll be until we find them again. We can’t screw this up.”

“Is he stable enough?” Kakashi asked.

“He should be,” Tsunade assured him, and it wasn’t nearly good enough for Kakashi. “They’ll send someone to pick him up the second he calls. We need to go,” she stressed again as she backed away.

“I’m fine,” Iruka said. Kakashi looked at him and sighed. Iruka ignored it. “I can think of more than one person who’ll drive like hell and get me to Konoha within the hour. There’s always a medic on duty.”

“Tell them I didn’t administer antibiotics,” Tsunade called to Iruka as she reached the car and opened the driver’s side door. “You’ll need them right away.”

Kakashi heard her start the engine and still he didn’t move.

“She’s right,” Iruka urged him. “We need more than anything to find their headquarters, and this could lead us right to it. You need to be her backup in case anything goes wrong.”

“How can you be so damn logical about this?” Kakashi asked, growing exasperated.

Iruka managed a smile. “I’m tougher than you think.”

Kakashi stared at him, a little awed despite himself. “Not possible.”

Iruka gave a laugh that made him flinch in the next second. He pulled Kakashi’s coat tighter around himself, knuckles going white from his grip on the cloth.

Tsunade opened her door again and nearly shouted.

“Kakashi. We need to go, right now, if we want even a _chance_  at tailing them.”

Her door slammed shut again, and Kakashi raced through the options in his head. If she went without backup, and they realized they were being followed, they would almost certainly try to kill her. With Kakashi there they wouldn’t be as likely to succeed. If he left Iruka alone, the two might send associates to finish him off, but if Iruka was right he’d be gone before they could reach him. Kakashi had no medical training. If Iruka’s condition deteriorated he wouldn’t be able to help him anyway. All he could possibly do was keep him company and watch him slip away.

Tsunade turned the headlights off and the car began to roll forward at a slow creep.

He hated the idea of Iruka sitting here all alone — still gravely injured despite their first aid, barely capable of defending himself if the worst should come to pass. Kakashi wanted to reach out and touch him, hold him, keep him warm, but he knew he couldn’t risk it even if he stayed.

Iruka’s breathing slowed and his eyes shone too bright, reflecting too much, moon and stars and fire in the unshed tears.

Kakashi took his face between his hands and kissed him. The tears finally fell as he pulled away, rolling heavy down Iruka’s cheeks, but beneath them he simply looked stunned. Not angry, or pleased, or anything in between.

“I’ll see you when we get back,” Kakashi told him with more confidence than he had the right to. Then he rose, and made for the car, and was gone.

 

 

Sasori stood on the sidewalk, gazing up at the sign above the sliding double-doors. His lip curled in distaste. If not for who waited for him inside, he would never have been caught dead entering a place like this. As it was, he had business to conduct, and he would waste no time getting to it.

He walked straight through the endless shelves of DVDs, ignoring the racier merchandise lining the walls, and approached the counter at the back. When the burly man behind it stood up, looking defensive, he hooked one slim finger in the collar of his shirt and pulled it aside to expose the distinctive tattoo: a red scorpion inked at the base of his neck, just above a pale and jutting collarbone.

The man’s eyes went wide, and he hurried to unlatch the gate that kept all but employees out. Sasori tipped his head in a slight nod as he passed through the open doorway behind him. Turning right, he entered a hallway, and spotted a guard he recognized outside one of the nondescript doors.

The man immediately let him inside. While small, it surprisingly passed for something of a conference room. There were three people seated around the table at its center, with one space conspicuously left for him. Sasori took it and addressed their leader.

“What are we doing in this disgusting shop anyway?”

Nagato eyed him coolly. In spite of his appearance — hair like wildfire, too many piercings to count through his face — there could be no mistaking the authority in the way he held himself. “We are being cautious, and not conducting all of our business at headquarters until we know it hasn’t been compromised.”

Sasori lapsed into a disgruntled silence. It was his call, taking Deidara directly there for treatment, and not everyone in the organization agreed that it had been the right one. While talented, he was generally regarded as replaceable. Kakuzu had flat-out told him, even as he sutured the wound, that he should have let the kid die. He knew some of the others were thinking it, but they didn’t have the rank to say something like that to his face and expect to live.

“Logistics aside,” Nagato continued, just shy of dismissive. “How is your man doing?”

Sasori’s face remained perfectly neutral despite the leader’s tone. “He’s still recovering, but he’ll live.”

“That’s a relief,” Nagato replied in a voice devoid of any enthusiasm. He leafed through the file in his hands before speaking again. “It is a shame to lose that ring, though. It was a significant source of income for us.”

Sasori gave the subdued smile of one who had been waiting for his cue. “I have news on that front.”

Nagato looked up with mild interest, and Kakuzu shifted impatiently in his seat.

“Go on,” Nagato prompted him.

“Takumi Art Museum is soon to find itself in need of a curator.”

Nagato eyed him appraisingly, responding after some consideration. “Hm. Not one I’d have thought of myself, but it’s clever. Though I doubt it’ll be as lucrative as the fights.”

“It will be.” Sasori spoke with unquestionable surety.

Opposite him, Kakuzu scoffed under his breath. Sasori knew why he was annoyed — the ring had been his idea. Seeing all the credit for the organization’s financial success shifted to Sasori would kill him. Sasori couldn’t bring himself to care.

Kakuzu would keep quiet no longer. “Nobody’s talking about the real problem. What are we going to do about Konoha? They’re obviously recruiting.”

“I’ll tell you what we do.”

Nagato didn’t look at either of them as he said it — instead he kept his eyes fixed on the woman seated across from him, who gave an almost imperceptible nod.

“We cut the head off the snake.”

 

 

Kakashi knew where he should go, and it was home, to sleep. The time he’d been awake reached the twenty-four hour mark on the drive back to Konoha. He needed to sleep, because with the night they’d had, by now he was running on empty.

He didn’t go home. Instead he ended up here, on the third floor of Konoha’s headquarters, at the bedside while Iruka slept. A monitor was beeping rhythmically in the background, slow and steady, and it both lulled Kakashi into a trance and wouldn’t let him nod off. Slumped onto an armrest, hand under chin, he kept watch with one drowsy eye over the sleeping form.

When Iruka stirred, Kakashi sat up straight.

It took another minute for him to wake up enough to notice Kakashi’s presence. His voice was hoarse but warm as ever. “You made it back.”

“So did you,” Kakashi pointed out.

“I’m very glad I did,” he agreed, starting to grin. With some effort, ignoring Kakashi’s concerned nonverbal protests, he managed to sit up. His face grew more serious as he weighed his next words. “How did it go?”

Kakashi sat back and reflected on the past few hours.

“We tailed them for about an hour, and ended up in some other part of the disputed territories. There’s a settlement there, and they’re hiding right in the middle of it. Civilian neighborhood.”

From the look on Iruka’s face, he shared Kakashi’s thoughts on this revelation.

He took a breath and went on. “We kept eyes on them until about seven, when the guards on the doors changed shifts. No one else came or went. Someone showed up to take over for us not long after.”

“So it’s definitely the place?”

Kakashi thought of those suited guards, strategically positioned so as to be nearly invisible from the street.

“Yeah. It’s the place.”

Iruka sighed, sounding as weary as Kakashi felt, and laid back against the pillows. He didn’t speak for several long minutes.

“So,” he said eventually, looking over at Kakashi again. “Are we going to talk about it?”

Kakashi froze in his gaze. He didn’t have to ask what it was they weren’t talking about. “Should we?”

Iruka didn’t humor him. “I need to know if that was just because you thought we might die before seeing each other again.”

Behind the mask, Kakashi closed his mouth. He didn’t know how to answer that. Further thought gave him nothing. “Does it make a difference?”

He expected Iruka to say yes. To expound on what that difference was. He didn’t expect for him to simply look away, head rolling against the pillow, and stare out the window.

But when he did, Kakashi swore he could see a smile.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere in my notes for this story (because I have headcanoned entirely too much about everyone in this AU) there is a reference to Nagato and Konan being “fake-married for tax purposes” years ago and I kind of love it. If it wasn’t obvious, these four are the highest ranked, by virtue of being the oldest and most accomplished (Kakuzu was kind of a big deal in the financial industry back when there was one and yes, Sasori is canon age — 35 — blame genetics or experimental medicine or witchcraft for why he looks like a perpetual teenager).
> 
> Forgive my excessively long author’s note — there’s a lot of backstory and worldbuilding that will probably never make it into the story proper but I could ramble to anyone who’s curious for days. I hope you’re all still enjoying it, and thank you for bearing with me as I write the rest!


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